


you can never escape your emo kid past

by ClockworkDinosaur



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Retail, M/M, Prompt Fic, Record/Music Store AU, davekat - Freeform, gratuitous references to various emo bands of the mid 2000's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 10:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9815393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockworkDinosaur/pseuds/ClockworkDinosaur
Summary: Your name is Dave Strider and you think to yourself that there's nothing more soul-crushing than the back room in a retail store.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate title: Wake Dave Up Inside  
> I'm getting really bad at thinking of good titles
> 
> Prompt in the end notes because spoilers ;3c

Your name is Dave Strider and you think to yourself that there's nothing more soul-crushing than the back room in a retail store. The shitty coffee in your hands seems to leech the energy from you rather than perk you up, though that could also be thanks to the blank cinder block walls around you and the droning from your manager.

Working in a music store isn't exactly your dream job, though being surrounded by records and CDs makes it more bearable. The clientele makes it less so, but you manage not to tell off the pretentious hipster pricks that drag their carefully styled, trying-too-hard asses into the store for being rude (because, more often than not, they are). It's an alright setup until you get your own music career off the ground.

You could do without the bitchy manager though.

“Hey. Earth to Dave, pull your head out of your ass for ten seconds and listen to this,” the bitchy manager says, waving a hand in your face. You pull yourself out of your thoughts to give her a blank look.

“We have a new member, someone to work stock while you tend the register,” she says slowly, as if explaining the concept to a five year old.

“Alright,” you say slowly. “Ten seconds is up, can I return to contemplating my ass or do you have more to say?”

“You're fired,” she says.

“Sweet, I'm out,” you reply, making no actual move to leave. It was a daily exchange and had been for the year or so you've been working there.

“Shut the fuck up, Strider. I'll be training the newbie so you're going to have to handle the register all day today. Think you can handle that?”

You nod. “Hell yeah, Vris. I got this shit on lock, gonna register that money so fuckin' good. I'm the master of pressing buttons in the right order and sorting bills an' shit.”

Vriska sighs. “Why do you say things?”

“I'm endearing.”

“Get to work, you monumental ass.”

“You're really interested in my ass and what I do with it for a lesbian!” you call as she walks away. She spares you a middle finger without looking back as she begins opening the store.

The store, called Turntech, is small and out of the way, tucked between two other stores in the more artistic part of town. It is dark and cramped, but in a comforting way. You have full control over the background music selection (a privilege Vriska regrets giving you, you're sure) and once you're behind the counter you begin playing your first song of the day: All Star by Smash Mouth.

You hear Vriska's growl of rage and grin to yourself.

Before she flips the sign to open, someone walks in with a scowl. You raise an eyebrow but manage to keep your mouth shut, not remarking on the rudeness of walking into a store that was barely open.

Vriska is less surprised. “Oh good, you're here. Dave, this is our new employee, Karkat Vantas.”

Karkat looks pissed and tired, that's your first impression. His dark eyes burn under thick brows and curly messy hair that sticks up in every direction. He's dressed entirely in dark colors that seem to compliment his brown skin. He's short and somewhat on the stout side, his stature for some reason giving you the impression of a very angry puppy.

Your second impression is that he's really fucking cute. He glances at you, looking you up and down like he was hoping your would burst into flames before his eyes. With the way your face grows warm, you almost think he's getting his wish.

You busy yourself with unlocking the register and making sure everything was in place before any customers came in. You feel rather than see him pass you and head towards the stock room, following Vriska as she explained the layout. You lean on the counter, staring off into space.

The bell over the door chimes after half and hour and you steel yourself to be greeted by some faux-chic cool kid with their parent's money.

Instead, your sister Rose smiles at you from the entrance.

“I don't think you've ever looked so pleased to see me,” she says as she leans her elbows on the wooden counter top with the subtlest of smirks.

“I'm just glad to see a normal goth instead of like a neo-Victorian punk-goth,” you say.

“That's a really fancy way of saying a person who enjoys wearing black and listening to Emilie Autumn.” she says.

“Shit, so you _are_ a neo-Victorian punk-goth?”

She rolls her eyes.

“If you aren't aware, the Evanescence CDs are in the back in case you and your girlfriend need graveyard aesthetic music,” you say with a straight face.

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” she says sweetly. “However, I'm here for the record I pre-ordered.”

“Right. Can I get your name, ma'am?”

“Zazzerpan the Learned.”

“Got it,” you say as you head towards the back.

Karkat was busy tiding the shelves, arranging them alphabetically by artist because Vriska herself had never wanted to.

“Hey man,” you mumble as you pass him. He grunts in response, not looking up at you as you pass behind him, very nearly touching but just avoiding contact. You grab Rose's record- something that radiates pretentiousness but you let it slide out of sibling love- and head back to the front.

Karkat looks up at you as you pass, glare in place, and you're hit with a strong wave of familiarity. Now that you see Karkat up close, you are one hundred percent sure you've seen him before.

He stares back, glare deepening.

“Are you enjoying the fucking view? Because you have a customer out there, dumbass.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” you stutter, walking past him.

You're agonizing over the fact that you just said yes, you enjoyed staring at him as you slide behind the counter and begin ringing up Rose's purchase.

She reaches across the counter and grabs your hand, thinly veiled concern on her face.

“You look like you're choking to death, what happened?”

“I'm judging your music taste.”

she blinks at you silently, lavender eyes staring into your red, and you sigh.

“Just a simple case of me making a fuckin' fool of myself, as usual,” you mutter as you take your hand back, sliding the record across the counter toward her. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't pry.

 _Yet._ You expect a string of texts waiting for you when you get home.

You try not to think of that now as Rose leaves and several customers, the usual type, walk in. You put on your patented customer service face and your workday really begins.

You try not to let your mind wander to Karkat as you work.

 

At noon you pop your head into Vriska's office.

“I'm gonna go out and get stoned and wasted at the same time,” you say.

“You wouldn't know where to buy weed if you were in Colorado,” she shoots back without looking up from her laptop.

“We both know Makara.”

She looks up at you finally, her expression annoyed. “Just take your fucking lunch break.”

You flash her a thumbs up as you back out, heading towards the break room to grab your stuff. Your wallet, shades, and phone sit in a box with your name scribbled in red Sharpie on the side. At some point, “Dave” was written over with the word “Dick” in blue pen.

Joke's on Vriska, you find it hilarious.

You turn quickly to leave and nearly knock Karkat over. He stumbles back and you grab his arm before he can fall flat on his ass. As soon as he's upright he wrenches his arm from your grip.

“Sorry bro,” you say, shoving your hands in your pockets.

“Watch out next time,” Karkat snaps.

“Can't help it if I ain't looking down at my feet all the time.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Oh shit! A short joke! God _damn_ you are clever. We can't all be six-foot-two, fuckwipe.”

You find yourself smirking, which only makes him look angrier. He shoulders his way past you and reaches into his own box, his name written on it in large, scrawled letters.

“Heading to lunch?” You ask casually, standing by the door.

“Where the fuck else would I be going?”

“Do you say fuck in every sentence?”

“Yeah I do,” he says as he leaves. You follow him out and flip the sign to “closed” as you pass.

Karkat walks with long strides, but you keep up effortlessly. He ignores you as he makes his way down the sidewalk for as long as he can until he huffs.

“Look, I don't need an escort to the fucking McDonalds down the block,” he spits.

You stop and he takes a few more steps before hesitating and turning to look back at you as you gape.

“Dude, oh _hell_ no. Micky-D's fuckin' sucks. Alright, I mean, I can appreciate some McNuggets like any other red-blooded American but damn bro, there's like a whole fuckin' cornucopia of good eats around here. Follow me,” you say.

He rolls his eyes but follows as you turn the other way and begin walking. You try not to think about the thrill that sends through you.

“So, uh,” you start eloquently. “I'm Dave, by the way.”

“Karkat, but you already knew that,” he says. His voice is loud and full and you find yourself wanting him to keep talking. You keep glancing at him, trying to place why the hell he looks so familiar. A nagging idea lingers in the back of your mind, just vague enough not to be graspable but there nonetheless.

You lead him past Turntech and past a few more stores until you're at a pale blue building with white trim, white wrought-iron furniture out front underneath pastel umbrellas.

Karkat gives you an incredulous look. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

It's not a question and you don't reply, only flashing a quick wink over your sunglasses as you head inside.

The Egbert's restaurant is a bakery at heart, all of the bread freshly made, sweets with sparkling sugar glimmering underneath glass-topped counters. Ever since you met John Egbert in high school, you'd visited as often as you could. The comforting and familiar smell of freshly baked bread washes over you and you spare a glance at Karkat. His face looks softer, eyes taking in the light décor as you make your way to the counter. An older woman, her face wrinkled but her hands steady as she kneads bread, smiles as you walk up.

“Hey, Nanna E,” you say with a smile.

“Greetings, Dave! John isn't here today, and let me tell you it's getting harder and harder to get him to come in! Why, one would think it's almost as if he doesn't want to be a baker at all!” She laughs heartily and you shake your head.

“We all know John's a dork, let him build computers in peace,” you say. Grandma Egbert smiles knowingly, then turns her gaze to Karkat.

“Oh, you brought a friend!” she says, and Karkat's skin reddens.

“Hey,” he says, slouching even more so than usual.

“What will you boys be having?” she asks, and you order your usual sandwich and soup. Karkat orders the same and you both take a seat at one of the indoor booths.

It hits you then that, to an outsider, this setup is incredibly date-like. You nearly choke on air. Karkat gives you a look bordering on concern. You wave him off, skin feeling too warm and tight as you look anywhere else but at him.

You pull out your phone and send a quick text.

TG: rose im dying 

Rose's reply is as quick as it is unhelpful.

TT: Shall I begin your funeral arrangements? Red silk lining in your coffin would be best, in my opinion.

TG: i hate you a lot right now

TG: but seriously i think i kinda maybe took a guy on a date but not intentionally considering we JUST MET today and

TG: ok look he was going to mcdondalds and i couldnt let that happen when the egberts restaurant is so close so i dragged him along and now were sitting in a booth and im dying

TT: How do you feel about this guy?

The question gives you pause. You just met Karkat but you quickly warmed up to him. He doesn't seem to dislike you, he willingly followed you to the restaurant and sat with you. He was cute, not to mention the fact you recognized him from somewhere.

TG: hes cool and i wanna get to know him

TT: Is that so?

TG: oh

TG: oh fuck thats what dates are for oh shit rose i fucked up

TT: Nobody is saying it's a date, Dave. But if all goes well, perhaps that will come later.

Your food is done before you can reply and you and Karkat stand at the same time.

“I got it,” you say as you head up to the counter. Nanna Egbert gives you a knowing look as you grab the tray and you deliberately don't notice. Your hands are nervous and fidgety as you bring the tray back to the booth and set it down. Karkat nods his thanks and begins eating. You watch him with an air of smugness.

“So, better than processed maybe-chicken nuggets of questionable origin, right?” you say, stirring your soup.

“Saying something is better than processed fake-meat isn't much of a compliment,” he points out with an eye roll. You note that he rolls his eyes a lot and though you see it from countless customers he somehow makes it endearing. “But yeah, it's great,” he concedes.

“Damn right. I've been coming here since I was a teen, my best bro's family works here so they know me,” you say.

“Nice. I recently moved into town so I don't know shit about this place,” Karkat says, pouting. “It's nice and all but I came from the middle of fucking nowhere, all these buildings are too tall and too damn close.”

“Welcome to the city, country boy,” you drawl, and he snorts, an honest to god snort and you find that so fucking adorable you kind of feel like your lungs are going to collapse. You clear your throat and look down at your food.

“But I get the culture shock thing, 'cept I came from a bigger city down south and moved here so I had to get used to actually driving places and shit. And hey, aside from my own personal music BS and working at the shop I don't really do much, so if you ever wanna hang out feel free to hit me up,” you offer. “I can show you where the cool kids hang out.”

Karkat looks at you blankly. “I don't think you would know where the cool kids hang out if they sent you a gilded invitation,” he says, then his face softens into an almost-smile. “But yeah, I would like that.”

He looks down before the flush you watch creep up his neck could reach his cheeks. Something about the way he glances at you from underneath his eyelashes sends that wave of familiarity through you and your eyebrows knit together.

“Have we met before?” you blurt out.

His head snaps up and he gives you a confused look.

“Did I not just say I just moved here from the-middle-of-goddamn-nowhere, USA?”

You huff. “I know but like... I feel like I've seen you somewhere. Like facial recognition deja vu or some shit.”

Karkat shrugs. “Don't know what to tell you, Dave. I've never been around here before.”

After that the conversation turns to movies as you both finish your lunch break. You rag on his taste in movies and he defends his choices vehemently.

 _God_ he's cute. You hang on every word he says, even though he has called you every creative and swear-laden insult imaginable and then some.

You walk back to Turntech together, chatting casually as you go back in the shop. Vriska looks up from the cash register critically.

“You cut it close, Strider,” she says. You shrug.

“This poor newbie was headed to McDonalds, Vriska. Do you understand the depth of that tragedy? This poor asshole woulda been choking down a McDouble while Nanna Egbert was making fresh bread not a block and a half away.”

Vriska is unamused. She points to the closed sign behind you and you flip it back to open as Karkat heads back to the stock room. You put your store playlist back on, pretty normal shopping white noise music with the occasional ironic addition that you added for the sole purpose of annoying Vriska.

It isn't Vriska's annoyed groan you hear a few hours later when My Chemical Romance starts playing though. Karkat comes out of the stockroom with arms crossed and eyes burning.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Strider?” he asks, voice dripping with disdain.

“You're lucky there's no customers around to hear you say the fuck word,” you say.

“I left my emo-kid MCR love in the past, and I don't need to have it dredged up from the depths of my twisted mind while I'm trying to sort hipster merch.”

“You, an emo kid?” you say, your eyebrows raised. You look him up and down, taking in his black oversized turtleneck and gray jeans. “Shit, how did I not see it before? You're all dressed up for the black parade.”

“Shut the hell up, it was years ago,” he hisses while his faces goes several shades darker, completely taking any venom from his words. He turns and leaves and you snort to yourself.

No way you're going to admit that you actually love this song and you have since you were also in your edgy phase. The song brings up old memories, some of which are embarrassing in hindsight, while others you can look back on fondly. Scrolling MySpace is simultaneously both, but you remember clearly sitting in your room, scrolling through the selfies of cute emo boys and not being quite sure if you wanted to kiss or be them.

Fourteen was a weird fucking age for you.

You turn over the memories of the dead social media website long after MCR has stopped playing, feeling oddly nostalgic.

And then realization hits you like a bowling ball to the dick.

“Motherfuckin' carcinoGeneticist!” you yell, and the sound of a stack of CDs hitting the floor is your only response for a full minute. Karkat comes out of the stockroom with a dumbstruck expression.

“What... the FUCK did you just say?” he says as you gape at him. He looks ten years older and he isn't wearing eyeliner, but you are absolutely certain that you used to follow Karkat on MySpace.

Though perhaps “follow” doesn't fully encapsulate the daily checking of his page and the frankly unspeakable amount of time you spent looking at his selfies.

“Dude, holy shit, you were carcinoGeneticist on MySpace like ten years ago weren't you?”

Karkat looks like he just bit into the sourest of lemons. “Never fucking speak of it.”

“What the HELL man, I feel like I'm meeting a childhood celebrity. Sign my Good Charlotte poster in your eyeliner, Kar. I can't believe I'm meeting my first gay crush long after MySpace stopped being relevant.”

Karkat's face is nearly pulsing red with embarrassment and when what you said catches up to you, so is yours. You have no idea how to backtrack on that one so you clear your throat.

“Uh, but, I mean, everyone was on MySpace back then. Don't worry dude, it's just kinda funny to recognize you after all those years. I was there too, doing my own shitty wannabe-edgy thing. Pretty sure my sister kept hers active until she was the last goth kid on the website. So it's not super embarrassing and I still think you're cool,” you say at a mile a minute. Karkat is covering his face with his hands, groaning.

“Oh my god, shut up please. Let me forget. I am begging you never to speak of this bullshit again.”

“Okay,” you say, raising your hands. Karkat doesn't say another word as he turns and heads back into the stock room.

It's definitely not to annoy Vriska when you start playing Bring Me To Life. Karkat's shout of indignation brings a grin to your face.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "You are my new coworker and I’m pretty sure I’ve never met you SO WHY ARE YOU LOOKING SO FAMILIAR FUCK I THINK YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE ANGSTY EMO KIDS I USED TO STALK BACK IN THE MYSPACE DAYS I CANT BELIEVE THIS"  
> (from this post: http://slytherfluff.tumblr.com/post/157103615891)
> 
> i've literally never been on myspace in my entire goddamn life


End file.
